R E D I A L
by spittlepig
Summary: [PHONE BOOTH] we're sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed. please check the number and dial again, or call your operator to help you.
1. CHAPTER ONE

TITLE: Phone Booth : Redial  
AUTHOR: Ananova Crowe  
  
~REDIAL~  
  
The ambulance jumped down the street, but Stu didn't feel it. He was flying high. The horn blared as the sirens wailed and he was completely oblivious to it all.  
  
Kelly was seated in the back of the ambulance, silent, looking at her husband's sleeping face. The attendant was patching up his ear when he turned and handed her two blue bags. She smiled at the man, before kneeling down onto the floor next to the gurney.  
  
Her mind flustering through what had just happened.   
  
Working gently, she untied his shoes, the soft, Italian leather smoothing beneath her fingers as she removed them, one, after another, and set them beside her knees. His hands worked slow, methodically, as she broke the disc inside and the goo-filled bag began to turn cold.  
  
As she waited, she looked to her husband's chest, to the purple splotch just below his chest, right at his rib cage. She thought he'd been shot, never able to know just how close she came to losing her husband on that fateful day.  
  
She draped the ice packs over his slightly swollen ankles, keeping Stu's socks on as she leaned back and sat down in the side of the ambulance once more, putting his shoes in her lap.  
  
A pizza guy.  
  
Her entire life could have been completely ripped away from her with one lousy shot.  
  
From one lousy pizza guy.   
  
~  
  
"I'm gonna go fix some lunch, would you like anything?"  
  
Stu raised his head from his magazine, stretched out on the couch in a faded, button up brown shirt and a pair of jeans and sneakers.  
  
It had been two months since he and Kelly had settled down away from everything. Stu had quit his job and they had moved down into the less crowded parts of New York after he'd gotten out of the hospital and off the news. They'd gotten themselves a new house, a new life, a new dog. Things were going well.  
  
"What are you making?" The bay window in front of him looked out over the sloping lawn and down onto the gray street, peaceful and barren. He liked it here.  
  
"Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches."  
  
"That sounds great," he called out to her, before putting his nose back into the magazine.  
  
The phone rang.  
  
A ringing phone had to be answered.  
  
It had been two months now, and lots of people had called throughout that time. Relatives and companions mostly, nothing unusual. News reporters and magazine columnists had called while he was back at the hospital, but still nothing suspicious then.   
  
They didn't get many phone calls now that they had moved, dislodging themselves from a life they had known so well and now hated to ever go back to.  
  
Despite the two months, Stu still had a problem with phones, but he was slowly getting back into the saddle with answering them. And due to what had come to conformity, Kelly picked it up.  
  
"Hello?" There was a pause. "Yeah, just a minute."  
  
Kelly came out of the kitchen with the phone and the connected phone jack, dragging the chord behind her. "It's Captain Ramey, he says it's important."  
  
Captain Ed Ramey was the officer who'd helped him through the ordeal two months back. The one he'd humiliated, then made amends with and now called a friend. Stu smiled as she handed him the phone and obliged as she bent for a kiss.  
  
He set the phone jack down on the table atop his magazine and rubbed at his eyes, looking at his watch. Noting on the leather banded clock that it was eleven thirty five in the morning. He yawned despite the time and brought the phone to his ear.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hello Stu."  
  
His heart froze.  
  
It wasn't Ramey.  
  
"How'd you get my number? How'd you find me?" He was outraged.  
  
"Good, then it is you. I was beginning to think I'd gotten the wrong number." The voice was slow, methodical, digging beneath his skin, just as he'd remembered it.  
  
"How did you find me?" He shot up from the couch, taking the jack with him and went to the bay window, scanning.  
  
"You've really cleaned up. I like the shirt. So much less expensive than black on maroon sorbet, don't you think?"   
  
After peering out into the vacant street, he closed the blinds.  
  
"I'm sick of your mind fucks asshole. Leave me alone." He hissed into the phone. "You can't get me here, I can call the cops and they'll be here so fast it'll make your fucking head spin." It all came back to him like a horrible deja vu.  
  
"Sweetheart?" Kelly came out of the swinging door with a towel rubbing at her hands, a questionable look on her pale face. "Are you alright?"  
  
He held a finger up to her, then flashed her his palm, his eyes casting worry her way.  
  
"How's Kelly?" The voice smirked. "Gotten prettier, hasn't she?"  
  
He put his hand over the receiver, "go-go back into the kitchen," he instructed, fear fading the color out of his face. His eyes hunted her shirt, looking for a red dot but not finding any. "Stay there."  
  
"Stu, what's wrong?" Kelly was worried.  
  
"Just go!" He demanded, lifting the blinds with his fingers and peeking out, looking for something, anything to catch his attention. He remembered this voice's face. The cool, methodical pallor, the glasses. He didn't remember him from before, but he knew him now.  
  
"Nervous? Aw, poor Stu. How's your ear?"  
  
"I can hear you fine enough asshole."  
  
The voice laughed. Wispy breaths that stabbed his brain. "Oh Stu, how I've missed you."  
  
"I'm hanging up."  
  
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." His voice tested.  
  
"What? What are you going to do about it? Shoot me? There's no apartments to hide in across the street, there's no fucking crowd or hookers to laugh at, there's no- I'm not in the middle of fucking New York City where you can point your rifle at me in a phone booth-"  
  
The voice laughed again. "Oh Stu, I don't need a rifle today. This kitchen knife does just fine."   
  
Stu's heart froze again.  
  
"Your wife smells good."  
  
"Where are you?" His words were barely a whisper.  
  
"Is she wearing lavender? I've always loved that fragrance."  
  
"I said: where are you?"  
  
"Her skin is so soft and pretty, like milk..."  
  
"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?" He turned hastily towards the kitchen and made a move towards it.  
  
"Don't move Stu, or this pretty skin comes off." He heard a muffled cry from the other line.  
  
"No..." Stu's voice caught in his throat as he stopped seven feet away from the kitchen door. The one he'd told Kelly to go back into.  
  
"That's right Stu...you have a nice house here. Away from it all."  
  
"No. No, no, no, no, NO!" Stu leaned forward and beat the phone against the wall in animosity towards himself for being so stupid. "Oh God..."  
  
"No I'm not, but thanks for the compliment." There was a pause. "Actually, you've given me a great idea Stu, why don't you call me God from now on?"  
  
Stu stood motionless, his eyes fixated on the wide shadow beneath the kitchen door. Seven feet in front of him.   
  
"Say my name Stu."  
  
His lips trembled.  
  
"C'mon Stu. Say my name."  
  
"...God..."  
  
A shivering pleasurable breath came from the receiver. "I love that." It was a whisper.  
  
"How did you find me?"  
  
"You don't really think you could just disappear on me Stu, did you? Figure it all would end? That that would be the end of it?" The voice paused. "I've been watching you."   
  
"Why?" His fingers were at his ear, feeling the broken, but healed, surface.  
  
"Because I had to make sure you were true to your words Stu. I couldn't just leave you and hope on Scout's Honor that you would stay clean and wholesome person. I had to watch you, at every waking hour. Guess where I was."  
  
"I don't know....where were you?"   
  
"Everywhere you were. I was following you. I followed you home from the hospital. I stayed within fifty feet of you at your every moment from then, till now. I shadowed you and you never even knew it. That's how I found you. And I've come to ask you a favor."  
  
"No."   
  
"Come now Stu, be reasonable, you've been through this once, you know what I expect." There was another stifled scream as he drove the point home, jabbing the kitchen knife into Kelly's soft throat.  
  
"Alright! Alright, what do you want?"  
  
"Go to the door, outside, on the step, is a package for you."   
  
He more or less yelled his answer to the kitchen door. "Okay! I-I'm moving to the front door, don't hurt her." He reached the door and fisted it open, finding a package about the size of a dictionary wrapped in white paper and tied with brown string, he picked it up and brought it inside. The package was heavy, the contents bulky and shifting inside.  
  
His heart was racing.   
  
It was all happening again.  
  
"Now what?"  
  
"Open it,"  
  
"What's in it?"  
  
"I will not ask you again."  
  
Stu unbound the knot easily with one hand and let the string fall to the floor, then he unmangled the wrapping from around the package and found it to be a box.   
  
"Open the box,"  
  
Stu did so, running his finger under the flap to unstick it before kneeling and dumping the contents onto the floor, chancing a glance to the kitchen door, seeing the shadow of his wife's and the "God's" feet.  
  
His throat tightened as he sifted through the four clunky items. There was a large silver gun with black grips, a small black, folded cell phone, a red and yellow box of bullets, and a white circle thing with a square bulge off to one side of it.  
  
"By now you've found the .24 caliber pistol, the box of ammunition, the black cell phone, and the VHF radio tracking collar." The voice knew his every move.   
  
"Load the clip and put the gun into the back of your jeans. Then, put the collar around your neck and switch it on. After that, turn on your cell phone and hit speed dial one."  
  
Stu did as he was instructed, he thumbed the bullets into the empty clip, put the gun on safety and slipped it into the back of his pants. Then, he took the white collar, found the little black switch on the bottom of the square bulge and flipped it on and put it around his neck, tightening it. The weight settled oddly around his neck as he unflipped the phone, pressed it on, waited, then pushed speed dial one.  
  
He held it up to his other ear, looking towards the door.  
  
"Who am I calling?" He asked into the landline phone while the cell still rang.  
  
"Hello Stu," he could hear the man's voice on both lines now.  
  
"Hang up the landline phone." And Stu did so without hesitation.  
  
"Feeling like a caribou yet Stu?" The voice sniggered.  
  
"Hey, fuck you pal..." He didn't want the words to be his, but they were, and the caller just laughed.  
  
"Are you ready to hear my favor?"  
  
"Yes," Stu rubbed the back of his head, chewing on his bottom lip, the collar feeling like it was tightening around his throat hard enough to choke him.  
  
"I want you to call a cab. I want you to have them pick you up."  
  
"That's it?"  
  
"You expected more?"  
  
"Where am I suppose to drive to?"  
  
"I'll tell you that when the cab comes."  
  
"Do you want me to call now?"  
  
"That all depends on you. Do you want your wife to die now?"  
  
"No..." he was stuck.  
  
"Then wait for my instructions."   
  
Stu nodded and sniffed, running his finger beneath his nose, nervous movements, anything to do. He ran his hand up through his hair and came down along his ear again, feeling the chink in the edge.   
  
"Call them now."  
  
"Can I get a phone book?" He tested the voice.  
  
"Where is it?"  
  
"It's in the table, near the couch."  
  
"Alright Stu, but nothing funny or your wife will die." The voice was so smooth, it made his senses tingle with hatred.   
  
He made his way towards the couch, all the while his eyes flicking towards the kitchen door.  
  
He pulled open the table drawer and pulled out the hefty phone book, placing it on the table and finding the page for cabs.   
  
"Who do I call?"  
  
"Whichever one you like."  
  
He chose the first one his finger landed on and dialed on the landline phone.  
  
"Can I get a cab to 247 W. Bloom Street?" Then he hung up the landline phone, the cell still open.  
  
"Now what?"  
  
"Open the blinds." Stu walked over and pulled on the chord, the blinds clacking up. "Wait."  
  
He waited. He seemed to stand there for a half an hour, listening to nothing, except the muffled breath of his wife through the cell phone, no doubt stifled by the man's arm around her neck.  
  
"I love you Kelly..." he whispered into the phone as he cupped it to his face, never wanting the breath to stop. Then, a yellow cab came into view, parking along the side of the road and giving two honks.  
  
Even from the distance, Stu could tell that the cabby was a heavyset man with dark skin. He wore a tight white wife beater and an open Hawaiian shirt overtop, revealing his large gut. His black hair was extremely curly and his large nose was pockmarked.  
  
"Go out and get in."  
  
"What about Kelly?"  
  
"If you want her alive, you'll do as I say."  
  
Gritting his teeth, Stu went for the door, stepped out, and shut it behind him, feeling like he'd just severed the lifeline between him and his wife. He made his way towards the running cab, the cabby turning in his direction, a naturally sour demeanor on his large face.  
  
"I'm so sick of this shit. I did what you told me to do before. I'm done." It all came out so fast, he didn't have time to stop it. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"  
  
"That was a bad thing to say Stu." The voice was uncommonly cool. "But I'm a sympathetic man. I'll let that slide, because it was in the heat of the moment." And the voice paused to let the words sink in. "Remember what I told you about change? You seem to have forgotten."  
  
"I didn't forget." Stu breathed, feeling a shudder go down his back, he nearly crumpled against the side of the cab.  
  
"Good, now wave goodbye to your wife."  
  
Stu began to turn.  
  
"Don't turn around." He said in pauses, drawing out his words.  
  
Stu put his other hand up in case he was watching, showing his submission. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Wave goodbye."  
  
Stu raised his hand and could only manage a small wave, before dropping it back to his side.  
  
"Get in the cab."  
  
Opening the door, Stu got in and sat, the gun digging into the base of his spine as he remained stiff in the plush leather seats.  
  
"You tryin' a new fashion statement?" The cabby motioned to the radio collar through the rearview mirror.  
  
Stu ignored him.  
  
"Tell him yes."  
  
"Yes. I'm starting a new bandwagon. Something you wouldn't know about." He tried to make the cabby leave him alone, pushing his face against the window, looking at the houses that neighbored his, hoping to catch at least a reflection...   
  
"Where you headed?" The cabby's voice was deep and hateful now at being disregarded. He twitched but didn't turn to look.  
  
"Don't tell him."  
  
Stu ignored him, chewing at his nails.  
  
"Hey, I'm talking to you." The cabby turned towards him, flustered.   
  
He needed to appease two people at the same time. "Just drive," Stu informed the cabby, who put his large elbow up against the caging separating them and turned back to meet his eyes, cocking a massive black eyebrow at Stu's tone.  
  
"I need a destination mac," he spit coldly.  
  
"Do - not - tell - him."  
  
"Would you just drive, please?"  
  
"Look buddy, I'm almost done with my shift. So either you give me a destination or you find a new cab.  
  
"Here," Stu said decisively, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet, pulling out a twenty dollar bill, then sliding it through the small slot, dropping it onto the seat.   
  
"Now would you fuck off please?" Stu turned away from him, hunkering down to try and figure things out. "Jesus Christ." He listened intently to the phone.  
  
"You're reverting to your old tactics again Stu. What happened to respect?"  
  
"Hey. Who the fuck are you talking to man?" The cabby hissed.  
  
"None of your damn business."  
  
"Hey man-you disrespect me in my----" but the cabby's voice was covered by a more important voice. "Tell him who you're talking to Stu."  
  
"I'm talk- I'm talking to God...alright?" He worked quickly through embarrassment.  
  
The voice laughed. The cabby didn't.  
  
"Whatever man..." then, beneath his breath "you motherfuckin' asshole."  
  
The cabby threw the car into gear while grunting things under his breath, the cab beginning to get hot and crowded. Stu pulled at his collar as he felt beads of sweat roll down his cheeks.  
  
"There are people in this world who are sympathetic to others Stu, this is not one of them. Do you know this man?"  
  
"Yes." Stu breathed, knowing what the voice wanted to hear.  
  
"Who is he?"  
  
"He used to be me."  
  
"Very good...I certainly have taught you a thing or two. I'm glad you still remember them."  
  
The car was silent for a long while. The cab breaking out of the subdivisions and into the busy streets looking over muddy water.  
  
"Look mac, where the fuck am I going? It's gonna be the final time I ask your ass-"  
  
"Ask him if he knows where his daughter goes every night."  
  
"Do you know where your daughter goes every night?" Stu relayed the information without hesitation, but shrinking back in fear of the repercussions. The voice went on, and Stu dug himself into a shit hole at the puppeteer's command.   
  
"Do you know that your poker buddies have all had a chance to fuck your daughter? And that your wife knows what you do to Milla when she's up in bed and can't get out because of her weight? She's eating herself to death because it's the only way she can deal with you."  
  
The cabby's eyes were as wide as a horse's as he looked at Stu through the rearview mirror, speechless.   
  
The voice couldn't stop laughing for a long while.  
  
"Tell him to turn on the music." The voice said finally, getting over its twisted delights.  
  
"Could you please turn on the music?"  
  
The cabby hacked a breath and looked over his shoulder like Stu was crazy.  
  
"Pull the gun Stu," the voice commanded.  
  
Stu's hand dropped to the back of his pants and he raised the barrel towards the back of the cabby's head, flipping off the safety with his thumb. "Would you just turn on the radio you stupid motherfucker?" There was anguish on his face, but he knew the cabby did not know why. He rested the gun on its side across the top of the driver's seat, the barrel against the cabby's rolled neck.  
  
"Alright mac! Take it easy!" His voice thundered as he stuck up his hand in surrender and reached out to flip on the dial.   
  
"Tell him to put on whatever he likes."  
  
"Choose a station you like." Stu instructed, and the cabby nodded his head, his eyes flashing from the road to the rearview mirror while the dial spun. Suddenly, through the stations of static, came a lively, slightly Jamaican sounding rhythm.  
  
"This sounds good."  
  
"Here!" Stu startled the cabby. "Here's good."  
  
"Turn it up." The voice instructed.  
  
"Could you turn it up please?"  
  
The cabby did so, before putting both hands back on the wheel.  
  
"Relax Stu, you've done well so far."  
  
"I hate you..." Stu breathed as he sat back against the cushioned seat.  
  
"What was that Stu?" The voice asked.  
  
"Nothing...I didn't say anything..." 


	2. CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO  
  
There was silence. Stu could feel the sweat on his lip and nose and forehead. He turned out the window, watching the vicious gray and brown give way to sprawling green fields. His arm hurt from holding the phone up, so he rested his elbow down on the rest on the door, keeping it touching his right ear. The rhythmic song swelled, brassy drums growing louder as they were beaten.  
  
"What's the fare amount?" The voice startled him and he jumped in his seat, leaning up.  
  
Gaining himself, he leaned forward, peering through the cage separating him from the cabby. He read the neon red meter, careful to keep the gun against the back of the cabby's head, the muzzle in a break in the caging.  
  
"It says twenty five fifty seven."  
  
"How much do you have on you Stu?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Check."  
  
"I'd have to put down the phone." His face twitched.  
  
There was silence for a moment.  
  
"Then do. But remember Stu, I still have your wife with me."  
  
Stu nodded - as if it would have made any difference - and hesitantly set the phone on the seat beside him. He was surprised to find how heavy his arm felt and how much his hand shook as he let go of the phone, his fingers refusing for a moment.  
  
He shifted up onto the balls of his feet to get out his wallet from his back pocket. Then, with his shaking hand, he shook the money out and into his lap. Counting it quickly before picking up the phone.  
  
"I have a hundred and fifty seven on me..."  
  
"I was beginning to worry you wouldn't come back. I'm glad you know where you stand." The voice informed. "How much was the fare?"  
  
Stu leaned forward again, having forgotten the number in the exchange.  
  
"It's twenty six thirteen." He could feel the sweat in his palm from his hand still holding the gun against the back of the cabby's head.  
  
"You said it was 'twenty five fifty seven', you lied to me Stu..."  
  
"No! No I didn't! It changed!" He could hear a cry on the line. "Oh Jesus! The meter changed! I didn't lie! No, please, God!"  
  
There was laughing on the other end.  
  
"I'm just kidding you Stu. Calm-"  
  
But the statement was suddenly brought to an end as the cabby made a sharp swerve, throwing Stu crossways along the seat for a moment.  
  
"Whoa! What the fuck?!-"  
  
Then suddenly, the cabby slammed on the brake, bringing the car to a screeching halt.  
  
Stu came flying forward, his head crashing against the caging as he felt the skin above his eyebrow split against the metal. The phone flew from his hand.  
  
Blackness swarmed as he lay slumped in the seat, his mind hiccuping what had just happened.  
  
After coming to a jarring stop, the cabby violently kicked open his door and pushed his massive body out through the small opening, yelling to himself at Stu. "You come into my house! You come into my house and you fucking disrespect me!?"  
  
Stu's door was suddenly and aggressively pulled open from the outside, a fist at his shoulder as he was dragged out of the car forcibly by one arm. He slid helplessly, his mind too fuzzy to understand what was going on, only that he was being moved.   
  
"You skinny, white motherfucker! I'm gonna kill you!" He only faintly felt the huge, beefy fist slam across his face, splitting his lip. And he felt his body collapse in on itself as he tried to curl himself into a ball for protection. But it was of no use. He was pelted across the face several times, his skin rupturing in some places, while his attacker tired and resorted to kicking at his ribs.  
  
He hauled Stu up by his shirt and slammed him back against the side of the cab, the car rocking at the impact, the back of Stu's head bouncing off the roof. A tight fist coming to meet its recoil.  
  
He heard the soft crunch of his nose and suddenly there was a fiery pain in his face as he screamed. His body was shaking and wet as the cabby brought his massive leg up between Stu's legs, striking hard.  
  
Stu could have sworn he heard one of his testicles explode.  
  
He doubled to the asphalt with little help to catch himself on his shoulder. Rolling onto his side.  
  
"You motherfucker," the cabby pointed at him as he pulled himself into the fetal position. "You are gonna die." Then the cabby scooted off towards the back of the cab, towards the trunk. Stu didn't doubt that the cabby had a gun in there.  
  
Stu fought to find breath again, his numb fingers fumbling for his nuts, while his other arm stretched out, his fingers reaching towards his gun.  
  
'Him or me' was all that would go through Stu's head.   
  
'Him or me.'  
  
His fingertips touched the handle, his finger pads against the pavement as he heard the cabby rummaging through the trunk, cursing encouragement to himself as he tried to fish out his gun.  
  
Stu reached out again for his own gun, so close, yet so far away, just enough to be out of reach, but close enough to touch.  
  
He heard the victorious breath and rolled, his upper body shifting forward, his fingers gripping the plastic.  
  
"You're gonna die now motherfucker..."  
  
His fingers rolled around the handle.  
  
He heard the cabby's gun cock.  
  
And he rolled onto his back, against the pain, gun in hand.   
  
The cabby raised his gun. A rifle.  
  
Stu fired twice.  
  
The bullets exploded into the cabby's shoulder, the shirt lifting where the bullets hit him with a splash of red.  
  
The cabby's massive body twisted backward with a cry of surprise, his knees buckling as he hit with a hollow, wet *CRACK!* face-first into his own trunk before bouncing off, spinning, and collapsing to the ground on his stomach. Not moving. Probably stunned. Stu had aimed to keep him down, not to kill.  
  
Stu's breath was caught in his chest. As he stared at what he had just created. The large mass of man lying facedown on the pavement, blood beginning to seep through his Hawaiian shirt, cool and red.  
  
He'd just shot a man.  
  
He heard mumbling from the backseat of the car and wheeled round with the gun, his mind still on alert, pointing at the empty leather seats and feeling hell for it.  
  
The phone.  
  
He pushed past the screaming pain as he scrambled to get to his feet, but only could get up to his knees. The hand with the gun immediately went around his crotch, which felt like someone had lit a fire between his legs.  
  
He shifted forward, his denims ripping against the rough road, as he doubled over the inside of the floor of the cab. He stretched his free arm out and jostled it a bit before grabbing the phone.  
  
"Stu-"  
  
"I'm sorry...he hit the brake....I couldn't....I lost the phone...."  
  
Suddenly, there was groan behind him. The cabby was rising.  
  
Somehow - unaware of how his body could have done it - Stu flopped out of the car,   
turned and watched. The cabby clawed his way up from the pavement, juggling his rifle as he aimed once more, the muzzle wavering towards Stu.  
  
But his finger squeezed the trigger of the pistol. He fired, right at the man's forehead. Always shoot to kill.  
  
The man's body rocked back and came hard onto the asphalt, a great peeling sound emitted as his skin and hair husked back from his skull.  
  
"You killed him Stu." The voice said to him matter of factly.  
  
His mind suddenly reeled, realizing what had happened. "You did that!"  
  
"No, no, no, Stu. You did that. You fired first."  
  
"He was going to kill me!" Stu said, exasperated. "You- you made me! You made me kill him!"  
  
"No Stu, listen to me. YOU killed him. YOU fired the gun."   
  
Stu began to break. "He came at me..." he cried, "he was going to shoot me..." His shoulders shook.  
  
"It's not like you haven't witnessed death before."  
  
Stu's jaw trembled and his voice became hitched, the gun waving in his limp hand.  
  
Stu slumped to the ground, falling hard.  
  
"FUCK!" He cried as the pain in his entire body seemed to swell all at once.  
  
"Calm down Stu."  
  
Stu took time and did so.  
  
"Are you hurt?"  
  
His mind faltered.  
  
"Wha-? Why do you care?" His face contorted into a grimace.  
  
"Answer the question." The voice said forcefully. "Are you hurt?" The voice didn't want to explain.  
  
"My nose might be broken..." he cradled the phone between his ear and his shoulder, wiping at the blood running down his face.  
  
There was silence.  
  
"Fuck..." Stu breathed, looking at his red-coated hands. "I need to go to a hospital..."  
  
"No Stu,"  
  
"Please..." Stu begged.  
  
"Listen to me, you go to a hospital and Kelly dies. Do you understand me?"  
  
Wiping his hands on the side of his pants, he gently touched his privates, feeling for blood and found nothing but agony.  
  
"Stu?"  
  
"I understand..." he mewed weakly.   
  
"Twenty miles down the road is a gas station. Drive there. Find whatever you need to fix yourself up. I'm being generous now Stu. So don't go fucking it up."  
  
Nodding to himself, Stu rolled forward onto his ripped knees, still holding his crotch and began to crawl.  
  
"Get up and get in the car Stu." The voice instructed and Stu obeyed.  
  
Stu wiped at the fluid on his upper lip, not knowing whether it was blood or snot. "What do I do about the body?"  
  
"Put it in the trunk."  
  
Stu looked, the trunk already popped, and he shifted himself upwards, using the side of the cab as a support as he shimmied his way to his feet.  
  
He stepped forward and tested his footing, before standing straight up, his gonads screaming and he shuffled over towards the body.  
  
Pushing away the pain, Stu leaned down and grabbed the cabby by the shoulders, refusing to look in his dead, wide, surprised eyes. The bullet wound in the center of his forehead oozed a trickle of blood, but as he began to drag the body towards the rear of the car, he saw the mass of pink and black globs of the man's brain on the road.  
  
He clamped down his jaws and forced up his tongue as his stomach attacked him, retaliating at the large puddle of human head matter just lying there, steaming in the cool air. He got the body propped up against the tailgate when suddenly his stomach heaved and beat him.  
  
He swung out into the grass and lost it all, falling to his hands and knees as he puked up what he didn't remember ever eating.  
  
As he finished, he wiped it away with the side of his hand, then wiped it onto a clear spot in the grass, looking away. The smell was bad enough to cause his stomach to churn, he didn't need to see it as well.  
  
Clambering up onto his feet once more, he gripped the corpse by the shoulders and with a heavy grunt, lifted the large man's carcass into the trunk.  
  
The cab sunk on its back tires at the added weight and Stu could do everything to keep his stomach from revolting again as the body turned over in the carpeted trunk.   
  
He threw the pistol and the rifle into the trunk on top of the body and slammed down the trunk.  
  
"I'm done," Stu said into the phone, wiping away the spit dripping down his chin from straying barf.   
  
The voice had been waiting somewhat patiently, almost cynically for him to be finished.  
  
"Fix yourself up Stu," the voice spat, "but remember your doing me a favor."   
  
He got into the car and started the engine, making it jump from a growl to a purr before shifting it into gear.  
  
He pulled back onto the road precariously, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he felt eyes watching him. Even though this side road was deserted.  
  
Luckily, as he approached the gas station, it was void of cars. He brought the car to a rolling stop just outside the front door and turned off the engine. Hesitating at the pain, Stu stumbled out of the cab and went towards the front door.  
  
Standing inside behind the counter was a woman, about twenty-six, with red hair, she was reading a magazine, not looking up.  
  
Stu limped past her and into the aisle of fishing tackle, finding what his blurry mind could only guess on what would be appropriate. Bending awkwardly - with his shoulder screaming in protest - he reached down and picked up a lure with a big orange, floppy bug strapped to the sharp, straight hook, the only straight one in the box. Then, he fished out a roll of fishing line and a pair of scissors from another aisle.  
  
"Do you have a bathroom?" His voice was weak and hurt, but the girl at the counter paid no attention. Without looking up, she snapped her gum and raised her arm to point towards the back of the station to a fading sign that read BATHROOMS.  
  
Stu hunkered down and made his way there. Once inside, he locked the door behind him and fell against it, sliding down as he began to tear up. The phone was still against his ear, his wife's breathing having been put on as a soft abrasive music.  
  
"Kelly," Stu tried, but got no answer but a shift in the breathing pattern, "Kelly baby I love you. And whatever happens, you're going to be alright...I promise..." He wiped at his tears as he stared at the things on the floor about him.  
  
"Stu?" The voice was back.  
  
He shut his eyes, but he knew that the nightmare would not go away.  
  
"We've both decided that you need some alone time."  
  
"Who? Who's decided?" His heart sank in his chest.  
  
"Kelly and I, we'll call you back in twenty minutes," and with a click, the caller hung up. Stu's heart crumbled and his balls hurt like a motherfucker.  
  
Scooting forward on his heels, he reached down and undid his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and lifted the top of his jeans, relieved to find his manhood still fully intact. His only worry was that one testicle looked slightly darker than the other did. He thought maybe it had imploded and was now filled with blood.  
  
Reaching over, he cracked one of those ice packs and waited for it to turn icy cold, before hesitating as he placed it against his crotch. He jumped at the contact, "...aw, fuck..." and worked quickly to zip and buckle his pants back up, the top of the bag protruding to lie against his solar plexus.  
  
Working carefully, he stood, made sure the ice pack was safely secured, and hobbled over to the rusty window with his new items, dropping them onto the top of the toilet tank.  
  
In his reflection, he looked almost as bad as he felt. His shoulders sat unevenly on him, his right slumped a little lower to lessen the pressure on it.   
  
His arms felt heavy and shook as he turned on the water and splashed the cold moisture onto his face, rubbing away the blood and revealing the wounds beneath, not as bad as he had initially thought from his reflection. An inch long gash seeped blood from over his left eye and a crescent shaped cut finished it off to the side. His nose was clipped pretty bad from the blows and the side of his bottom lip was trickling blood as well.   
  
He strained to get his hands to pull the fly from the hook and make a crude instrument for sewing with the hook and line.  
  
Then, biting down on his tongue, Stu began to sew the sides of the gashes together.  
  
As he finished with wetted cheeks, his breath heavy, there was a knock at the door. "You alright in there? You been in there a long time." Then a pause.   
  
When he didn't return with an answer, there was a flustered sigh and the click of heels away from the door. "Hey man, you better not be jacking off, I just cleaned the floors and the toilets-" typical New York.  
  
He'd pulled off the side of his shirt to look at his shoulder, which was bruised slightly, belittling the pain that he felt. Now, he worked to button it back up.   
  
His heart vaulted into his throat as the phone rang and he slid to it, actually welcoming its feel to his hands. He answered it on the second ring, but didn't speak.  
  
"Are you done?"  
  
"Yeah," Stu threw the remaining items into the trashcan. Gave his crude sewing job a once over with a grimace and washed his hands of his blood. He swallowed hard at his reflection before straightening his clothes and heading towards the locked door.  
  
He opened it onto the distressed face of the girl, whose crossed arms immediately fell to her sides on the sight of his face. "Oh shit man, are you okay?"  
  
Stu didn't look up, instead, he buried his face in the floor and walked with a quickened stride, veering towards the narrow isles of chips and dip. The girl hounded him interested, "hey, don't I know you from somewhere?" He quickened his pace, the phone pressed against his ear but no voice coming from it. "  
  
"Hey! Weren't you that crazy guy in that phone booth...??" But he shoved open the door and headed straight towards the cab.  
  
Then the realization hit her. "You have to pay for that shit you took!" But he wasn't swayed, instead, he slammed the cab door in behind him, thumbed the key, and hit the gas, sending a spray of dirt in her direction.  
  
She answered by flipping him off. 


	3. CHAPTER THREE

Um, I used the F-bomb a lot in here because i like it. if it were in human form, i would marry it...so be warned...thanx...bye...  
  
~  
  
CHAPTER THREE  
  
The narrow grasslands had stopped abruptly into the spit of a city, mock houses each impersonating the one next to it. Except for maybe that the trim along the top was a darker blue, or that the walls were a little more gray than the other, but most in all the same.   
  
"What happens if the batteries die in this?" Stu asked, making conversation, keeping the voice on the line, even though he knew it wouldn't go away.  
  
"Then your wife dies." The voice said this cuspily, as if he was picking his teeth. There was silence following, the pressure of this point having been pushed to the extreme. The thought of his wife at the hands of this man made Stu want to bleed.   
  
"Is this a joke to you?" He didn't mean it as conviction and thank god it didn't come out that way.   
  
"Could be," the voice sounded almost interested in this conversation, lapping at his teeth with his tongue, feeling their gleam. "I charged the batteries before I had it sent to you."  
  
"What about the collar?"  
  
"If it stops moving, Kelly dies. Makes things much more simple doesn't it?"  
  
"What if I crash?"  
  
"You won't."  
  
"What if I do?"  
  
"What do you think?" The voice had soon gotten tired of the cat and mouse game  
  
"How do you know I didn't make a phone call while I was in the bathroom?" He tried another angle.  
  
"The phone's bugged."  
  
"I could have went to the pay phone."  
  
"Are you confessing then, Stu?" The voice tightened.  
  
"No, I'm just saying..." whoops, he cut that one too fucking close.  
  
"The girl at the counter acted like that was the first time she'd seen you, I assumed." It seemed so boringly obvious to the voice now. The game had run its course and was now quickly spiraling downward.  
  
"But still, I could have hid my face. Why believe me?"  
  
"Because I trust you Stu," complacency nearly reeking from the receiver, the random comment setting Stu back in his seat.  
  
"Why should you trust me?"  
  
"Because I made you."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Who showed you that the 'truth will set you free'? It was me. Sure, when you were born your family made you a strong healthy boy. When you were in Westmont High School Chelsea Vitola got drunk and showed you her pussy, she made you a man. And when you were a no-account ~ plugging for people who didn't have a chance, you made yourself into a lie. But me Stu, it was me that made you trustworthy again. Remember that? I whittled you down to the materialistic piece of shit you were and I showed you who you'd become. I showed you the light."  
  
"The light?" It was a mocking tone.  
  
"You a nonbeliever Stu?"  
  
"I wasn't, but I lost my faith two months ago."  
  
The voice laughed. "You never cease to impress me."  
  
"That's what I was fucking going for, pal." Stu breathed into the phone.   
  
"Is there a problem Stu?" The voice turned suddenly serious again. Fucking Christ if this guy didn't have bipolar disorder.  
  
"A problem?" The mocking tone came out coating his words like the poison casing Snow White's doomed apple. "No, no I don't see a fucking problem. Hell, I'm out in the middle of fuck knows where with my wife back at home, alone, with some fucked-up lunatic whose only reason for being so fucked up is because he wants to teach me the right way to live life. A fucking problem? It's only a fucking problem if you're on this end of the line pal."   
  
Run all you fucking woodland creatures, run like hell.  
  
"I was nice before Stu," the voice coughed, their lips close enough to scathe the receiver, "don't push your fucking luck."   
  
"I'm sorry," he spat, but wasn't then regrettingly was, "look, I'm fucking sorry, I'm just-" he rubbed at his temple, his elbow now against the steering wheel, "I'm just stressed."  
  
"I'll bet you are." That same finger plucked the chord of outburst. "I'm trying to show you something-"  
  
"You're showing me something?" Stu cut in, laughing insultingly. "What the fuck are you showing me now? How I can have a heart attack at the age of thirty? How I can be a fucking meat puppet scared shitless because someone's severing my strings right and left all around me, all because you want you to get your fucking shits and giggles! Oh yeah, you've shown me a shitload buddy! You're showing me how many fucking ways I can die because my life isn't fucking good enough for you!"  
  
Then it all suddenly became clear.  
  
"I know why you're doing this." Stu turned left on Beckham Street, not knowing why, just pulling his arms, heat of the moment kind of shit.  
  
"And why is that?" The voice was brimming, but had not built a head yet.  
  
"It's because you have no control in your life. Your life's fucking falling apart all around you and you can't do shit about it."  
  
"Look who's talking to their psychiatrist now..." The voice mused.   
  
"I hope your world's coming down on you asshole and I hope it crushes you." Stu was persistent, trusting his gut instinct that he could feel that he was on to something.  
  
The voice laughed, but it didn't last for long. "Maybe," he could swear he heard a smile crack on the voice's face.  
  
"Or maybe I was just bored today."  
  
There was a pause, a slight tapping on the other side of the line.  
  
"You seem to know things pretty well Stu, you sure you're not describing your own life?"  
  
Stu was silent, knowing it was true.  
  
The voice took on a somber tone. "You seem to know everything so well smart guy, seem to have everything pegged. Well, I'm gonna let you have a little piece of my life. Do you see that girl?"  
  
"How the fuck-" He looked, but did not want to. "Where? What girl?"  
  
"She's down the street. Do you see her? She has blonde hair. She's wearing a red dress."  
  
"I don't see her..." Stu pussyfooted hesitantly.   
  
"You're lying Stu..." There was a cry of pain following the statement. Stu's throat tightened. He could hear the blood spill from his wife's white neck and dribble onto the receiver as the voice held it close.  
  
"I SEE HER! Fuck, I see her..." Stu relented into the phone, his eyes fixated on the little girl with blonde hair.  
  
"Good boy Stu...you're learning well..."  
  
"...Kelly..."  
  
"Hit the girl Stu." The voice was even.  
  
He felt a hand go through his gut.  
  
"What?!".  
  
"Hit the girl Stu." Like a carbon copy.  
  
"With the car?" It seemed unreal.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"No! No, I- I won't..."  
  
"Do it Stu." His voice was brimming. "Do not make me angry."  
  
"I won't hit her!"  
  
"Hit the little girl. Do NOT make me tell you again Stu."  
  
"She's just a little girl..." Stu whispered to himself.  
  
"YOUR WIFE WILL DIE!" The voice screamed and Kelly's voice screamed with him, one of terror and pain as he drove the knife hard into her skin, threatening to hit the gristle of her larynx.  
  
"ALRIGHT!" Stu screamed and pressed the gas to the floor. "Alright..." Stu felt hot tears roll down his cheeks. The little girl was halfway across the road.  
  
"...fuck..." He closed his eyes and steered straight.  
  
There was a small scream, followed by a thump. 


	4. CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR  
  
Stu woke up, his arms strewn in front of him, lying against the crumpled hood. The taxi's front bumper was wrapped around a telephone pole. A pain swelled in his head and it only grew as he picked it up, lifting to see a wash of blood go down in front of his eyes.  
  
"Aw fuck..." he whispered, reaching up to touch the soggy mesh of hair that was covering his head wound. He was sprawled halfway out the windshield, his legs jammed up around the steering wheel, his torso out the shattered window, bleeding in various places.  
  
When he talked, blood dribbled from his lips, his words soggy and barely distinguishable even to himself. His head sloshed as he rose, the blood spilling as he brought his hands back in and tried to sit down.  
  
There was murmuring.   
  
His eyes tried to roll into the back of his head as he slumped back into the seat. Everything hurt like a motherfucker, a pain worse than he'd ever felt before. As he forced his eyes forward, he could see shapes swooning around him, meshing and fuzzy, until they started to separate and become distinguishable.  
  
Sounds started to come with the shattered vision, watery and thin, gurgling about his ears as he reached up to touch one, the scarred one, and found new blood there. His tongue was thick and tasted like a giant slab of copper trapped between his teeth.  
  
He had no control, as of the moment, and his body slumped helplessly against the door, the side of his face pressed against the window. Someone knocked on the glass, making him jump.  
  
"Awe ou awigh?" the words went swimming by him, confusing him as he lifted his bloody palm and pressed it against his hair, squeezing out blood. He brought his other hand up against the glass, smearing it red as it slid across the smooth sheen, before falling away again.  
  
"mistuh....mistuh? ...Mister?" the words became distinguishable when the colors moved back into focus, taking on familiar shapes and shadows, making faces and clothes and expressions.  
  
There was a little girl at the window, dressed in red with blonde hair. She had big blue eyes, big as a doe's that shone in the afternoon sun like giant pools of sapphires. She had her hand pressed against the outside of the glass, she wasn't beneath his tires.  
  
The phone.  
  
His head whipped from side to side, throwing blood, tearing pain as his eyes roved desperately for the phone. How long had he been out? There were people around, standing there, clutched about themselves, not knowing what to do.  
  
"I've called an ambulance, you'll be alright sir..." someone said.   
  
"Are you alright sir?" another asked.  
  
He ignored them.  
  
Kelly? Where the fuck's the phone?  
  
Then. He saw it, cradled in a crimp in the hood, smiling wickedly at him. He sat up, his back numb toward his left flank as he reached out through the windshield, so fast he got a gasp from the crowd.  
  
He strained to reach it, arm stretched, fingers fluttering to touch its cool black skin. His finger pads tapped the cool plastic, once, twice. He could hear the voice, talking, and he could hear Kelly too, screaming.  
  
"No Kelly..." tears welled in his eyes, meshing with the blood, choked by it. "...Kelly..."  
  
He strained again, chest pressed against glass, piercing his shoulders, ripping his torso. He stretched until his arm felt like it was going to snap right off of his shoulder and with one final heave, one final chance at his failing strength, he flexed to his fullest and snatched up the phone.  
  
He cupped it against his bloody head, holding it close. "Kelly? KELLY?!"  
  
"You stopped Stu."  
  
"Where's my wife?" Stu screamed. "WHERE IS SHE?!!"  
  
"You. Stopped. The car." The voice said evenly. "She's dead."  
  
"...fuck..." Stu began to cry, hunkering down into the seat. The pain had control of him, the voice had control of him, he was no longer a man.  
  
"It wasn't my fault." He sobbed. "I crashed..."  
  
"Why? You should have been paying attention."  
  
"You told me to hit the girl."  
  
"What girl?"  
  
"The little girl, in the red dress, you told me to hit her and I - I...."  
  
"I never told you that Stu, you're making it up."  
  
"I'm not! Look, I'm not making it up!"  
  
"Then where is she?"  
  
Stu turned, only to see the little girl standing outside his window, her hand pressed against the glass, looking at him concernedly.  
  
"She's standing...right here..." he couldn't believe it. It was unreal, the whole thing was so fucking unreal.   
  
By now, he could here sirens.  
  
"Oh my god..."  
  
Suddenly, he flipped the keys in the ignition, the motor thrummed and sputtered as the crowd stepped back, astonished. He wasn't going to give the voice any fucking ideas.  
  
When the engine finally clanked to life, a godsend from the looks of the hood, Stu forced it into reverse than pulled back out onto the street, scattering the people like the Red Sea. Most screamed, ran and jumped out of the way as he hammered the gas, the tires sliding and screaming and throwing out streams of smoke until finally they caught and the taxi screeched away on the pavement.  
  
He could feel the wind sucking against his face, blowing his head back against the seat as one hand maneuvered the steering wheel, the other was pressed up against his head which bled in fury. He glanced at the rearview mirror, spider webbed slightly and shimmering with red and blue lights as a swath of police cars roared onto the road.  
  
"Oh my god..." he breathed again, flooring the gas, wanting it to touch the pavement.  
  
"What are you doing Stu?" The voice was calm, collected.  
  
"Did you kill my wife?" Stu asked, his voice strung high and thin as the last note on a guitar, on the breaking point of tears.  
  
"You stopped the car Stu...it was your decision."  
  
Suddenly, the tears broke loose.  
  
"She called for you Stu, up until her last heartbeat." The words were cold, biting. "You should be proud of that, she was calling for you when she died, not pleading for her life. You've both made big accomplishments in your life, it's a pity she didn't get to see the effects of hers."  
  
And all Stu could do was cry.  
  
"There is no compassion in this world, especially not for the guilty. You have no use for running, you're done for."  
  
Stu's tears quieted as he looked in his rearview mirror, the number of squad cars having grown ten fold, until the sky bled red and blue lights. Then, like a wave crashing over him, he became complacent and calm, his breathing went lax, his eyes beginning to close.  
  
He'd lost too much blood, he was beginning to die.  
  
"I don't want to do this anymore..." he decided, suddenly slamming his foot down on the brake, the car screaming. "You have anything on me now."  
  
"You're still not a free man Stu." The voice said, sounding like it was moving, packing up. "How does it make you feel? Knowing that you killed a man that you didn't even mean to and their going to rip you to shreds. And me, back at your house, just committed a cold blooded murder and I'm going to get away scot free?"  
  
He drove off the side of the highway, watching in the rearview mirror as the barrage of cop cars all screeched to a halt twenty feet back, fishtailing and weaving to avoid collisions as officers spilled from their open doors, taking their positions.  
  
They had their pistols and rifles out, their bodies hidden behind their cars, their faces intent.   
  
"Step out of the car sir. You're alright. We're here to help you." Someone was on a bullhorn, spitting out empty words.  
  
  
  
"I'm through playing your game you sick fuck. There's nothing left for you to take from me. Why did you do this? Why couldn't you just leave me the fuck alone?"  
  
"I had to show you the truth Stu."  
  
"And what's the truth?"  
  
"You're are afraid of dying. Open the glove box."  
  
"I'm already dead. How can I be afraid of it?" With the glove box falling open, a silver gun slid out and bounced into the seat. He took his other hand from his head wound, reaching down to pick up the gun. Planted for him.  
  
"Sir! I'm asking you to step out of the car!" The bullhorn shrilled.  
  
Stu opened the door and stepped out, the phone pressed against his ear and his other hand leveling the gun towards the swathing group of men in blue flack jackets, who suddenly swarmed into action.   
  
"Drop your weapon!" Someone screamed into the bullhorn. "Drop your weapon! NOW!"   
  
The surge of blue uniforms swayed as Stu waved the gun, not pointing at anyone in particular, but just keeping them on their toes.  
  
"We WILL open fire on you sir! Drop your weapon!"  
  
"There might not be a light on the other side of death." The voice offered.  
  
"I don't care anymore..." the floodlights blinded him as news vans pulled up. He folded his arm and pressed the gun up against the side of his head, feeling its weight at his temple.  
  
"Sir, put the gun down."  
  
"Well then," the voice spoke fluidly, "Before you die, I just want you to know..."  
  
"Know what?"  
  
"You're living a lie Stu. Everything you've ever known, ever touched, ever seen, was a lie. A fabricated world that's been built up around you to keep you safe and warm. How does it feel to get it ripped away from you? All in one single heartbeat?"  
  
There was a pause.  
  
Life was a deception. And deception does not go unpunished. He remembered that.   
  
"How do you feel now Stu?" The voice asked laughing, and Stu's eyes momentarily connected with the officer's. "Unabsolved still? Tell them what you've done..."  
  
Even with his wife dead, the voice still held power over him.  
  
"I killed a cab driver! And I've killed my wife because I don't listen." He screamed to the cops, their faces not falling from their shouldered rifles, all aimed at him. A cloud of red dots against his chest, a perfect line across his chest.  
  
This is what his blood will look like when they tear him apart.  
  
He took the gun from his head and pointed it back out at the police, waving it around, causing jumps in the officer's artillery when it swayed on them.  
  
"DROP YOUR WEAPON SIR, WE'RE NOT GOING TO ASK YOU AGAIN!"  
  
"There not going to ask you again," the voice chuckled, "they're very serious." Then, Stu could hear it lighting a cigarette.  
  
"Remember now Stu, this is completely your decision."  
  
"I know. My decision."  
  
"Feel better? Now that the weight has lifted from your shoulders?"  
  
"Light as a fucking feather..."  
  
"It's like déj´ vu all over again, eh Stuart?"  
  
"Fuck you God." He held his breath and pulled the trigger on the pistol, firing towards the dark blue crowd.  
  
There was a returning volley of fire.  
  
And Kelly screamed on the phone.  
  
~  
  
Isn't it funny - you here a phone ring and it could be anybody. Yet a ringing phone has to be answered, doesn't it? Doesn't it? 


End file.
